


Soften Under Notes of the Untouchable

by moonlightskies (blossomclouds)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Classical Music, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, this is approx 8k of arya being a gay mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21942769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blossomclouds/pseuds/moonlightskies
Summary: Arya only wanted to punch Joffrey in his stupid face for what he did to Sansa.Instead, she gets a classical pianist who moves her with her music. It's really not what she wanted at all.
Relationships: Myrcella Baratheon/Arya Stark
Comments: 8
Kudos: 51





	Soften Under Notes of the Untouchable

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for the [gotsecretsanta 2019](https://gotsecretsanta.tumblr.com/) for [king-in-the-baltic-north](https://king-in-the-baltic-north.tumblr.com/).
> 
> i had quite a lot of fun with this and it definitely got me deeper into these two who i just like... so much??
> 
> idk, i just think they're neat.

Blood roared in Arya’s ears when she went down and fury shot through her chest in a hot white bolt.

Behind her one of the onlooking girls screamed. Arya rolled her eyes and spat before she propped herself up on her elbows. Joffrey hadn’t held back, but she’d been punched worse by  Jaqen on a good day.

“Your sister was a horrible little rat, you know,” Joffrey sneered sneered. “But at least she was never stupid enough to fight back.”

Flexing her hands, Arya felt the scraping of gravel down her forearm. She looked to the ground, looked ahead to Joffrey’s stupid, stupid, skinny, long legs – and lunged. Her feet scrambled against the ground when she vaulted herself up. Like  Jaqen had taught her she pulled all her anger into a tight little ball in her stomach.

With all her force, she slammed into Joffrey’s legs. 

He went down with an  _ oomph  _ and a scream. 

Arya didn’t wait for the impact to hit her, she righted herself and went to pin him. But before she could start pummelling his dumb, disgusting face, Professor Selmy came running. 

“That’s  _ enough.”  _

Usually, Arya really liked the Professor. He was never one to shy away from anything, like he reached for them now, one weathered hand grabbing her by the scruff of the neck and lifting her off Joffrey with almost no effort. But now she could have killed him as she regained her footing and saw that Joffrey hadn’t taken nearly enough damage.

She’d always been a light girl. 

“ _ She almost killed me,”  _ said Joffrey, splotchy red and shrill.

Selmy surveyed him head to toe. “Good thing you’re not dead, then.”

“I want her to answer to the dean.”

“I imagine she will have to,” said Selmy.

“That’s not fair!” Arya spat on the ground again. “He hurt Sansa! He  _ hit  _ Sansa.  _ He  _ should be the one getting punished.”

Selmy looked between them and Arya didn’t know what his face held. Her vision was still narrowed by rage. If only she’d had a little more time.

“Miss Stark, get yourself to the infirmary. Mister Baratheon, I will accompany you to the dean so you can register your complaint.” 

Arya growled after them, but as the adrenaline subsided her hands and arms and knees began to throb, so she only watched in misery as they disappeared into the crowd. 

The student body that had stopped at their furious display dispelled. Arya was left with a body in pain and no idea where the infirmary was. So far into her first term at KLU she’d been able to avoid having to pay a visit, but it was typical of Joffrey to ruin that, too.

She was half-ready to slink back to her dorm and just ask Gendry to dress some of the wounds. But before she could turn, a hand touched her shoulder, light as a feather. Still, Arya flinched away.

“Sorry,” said a soft, lilting voice. “Do you need any help getting to the infirmary?”

Arya turned around. The girl in front of her bore a striking resemblance to Joffrey, but there was nothing of his slimy smugness in her face. 

Still. Arya didn’t feel like dealing with anymore stuck-up jerks today.

“No,” she lied. “I’m fine.”

“Alright.” The girl eyed her thoughtfully. Her blonde hair flowed over her shoulders and caught sunlight in its waves. Arya already hated her. “I’m sorry my brother is such a brute.”

“Your  _ brother?”  _ She backed up another step. A memory of Sansa in their kitchen scratched at the back of her mind; sitting at the dinner table, listening to gushing about the  _ charming  _ Joffrey and his  _ beautiful  _ little sister whom Sansa had immediately liked. “You’re  Myrcella Baratheon.”

Green eyes lit up. 

Only green didn’t describe them, not actually. Jon’s girlfriend Val had once worn an emerald in the hollow of her throat that compared more suitably.

“Yes, that’s me,” said  Myrcella .

Arya scrunched up her nose. “Why would you  wanna help me?”

The pain in her joints faded into the background as weariness took its place.  Myrcella had a warm face, serious and open. But all the  Lannisters had their beauty her mother had told her once. “Remember Arya,” she’d said, “that doesn’t make them any better or more stalwart people. And unfortunately, for the  Lannisters often the opposite is true.”

Arya took in Myrcella’s hands clutching the strap of her leather bag and wondered what she was hiding behind her pretty façade.

“What he did to your sister was horrible,” said  Myrcella , only a little timidly.

Anger pulsed in Arya’s chest. “That’s putting it mildly.”

“I wish--” Emerald eyes were cast toward the ground. “I wish I could have stopped him.”

_ Then why didn’t you,  _ she wanted to ask, but the words got stuck in her throat. The gentle breeze of autumn played with  Myrcella’s hair. Arya grunted. “Do you know where the infirmary is?”

“Oh.”  Myrcella looked back up and Arya immediately wished she hadn’t.  _ Lannisters _ _ have their beauty,  _ she reminded herself. “Yes, I know where it is. It’s a little hard to find from here, but I can show you.”

She really didn’t feel like company, but Professor Selmy would likely come looking for her after he’d finished up with  Joffrey and the abrasions on her hands weren’t getting any less painful.

Arya sighed. “Show me.”

* * *

Robb laughed when he saw her. He only stopped, when the receptionist shot him a quelling look. Arya glared at him, too, but that had lost its effect long ago.

“Hey little wolf,” he said and knelt down in front of her chair. He was careful not to touch her anywhere it could hurt, only cupped her cheek with one hand as a greeting. “You’ve only been in university four weeks and already you’re making trouble?” Arya glowered more darkly, but Robb moved on, looking to her right. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Robb, Arya’s brother. Are you a friend of hers?”

Myrcella _ giggled.  _

Before she could answer, Arya kicked Robb in the shin. “No, she’s not, she just brought me here.” She jabbed a thumb in  Myrcella’s direction. “This is  _ Joffrey’s  _ sister.”

Robb’s face closed up and his smile became forced.

Myrcella stopped giggling and instead extended her hand. Shyly and innocently.  _ Damn  _ her. “ Myrcella Baratheon.”

Graver, Robb shook her hand. “Thank you for bringing her here.”

“It was the least I could do.” She held her composure admirably. “I really am sorry about my brother. I hope Sansa is recovering.” A brief look of uncertainty crossed her face, but she continued. “Where is Sansa, if I may ask? I haven’t seen her since the semester’s started.”

Arya’s eyes narrowed. She was ready to answer with  _ vitriol _ , but Robb stopped her with a hand on her knee. “Sansa decided to continue her studies at Highgarden after KLU failed to punish Joffrey in any real way,” he said diplomatically. Way too diplomatically for Arya’s taste. “Last I heard she’s very happy there.”

“Oh good.”  Myrcella’s smile looked genuine, but Arya wasn’t convinced. “I understand that she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore, but I wish her all the best.”

Robb nodded. The clench of his jaw relaxed back to his old-familiar, easy smile. Myrcella, Arya concluded, was very good and very much not to be trusted. Still, she kept her mouth shut as Robb got out of his crouch and sat down next to her. She’d tell Jon to talk to him after this was all over.

For now, he looked at  Myrcella over her head and asked, “What do you study, then?”

“Maths.”

Resolve broken, Arya turned to her incredulously.  _ “Maths?” _ She nodded. “Are you out of your  _ head _ ?”

“Arya,” said Robb, but  Myrcella only shrugged. 

“I like numbers.”

Arya scoffed and tried her very hardest to squash the heavy feeling blooming in her stomach. She  _ hated  _ numbers and she’d never been good with them. Just as she’d never been good with languages or arts. There was little about academics she liked.

Robb, on the other hand, while not amazing with languages like Bran or arts like Sansa either, had always had a talent for sciences. “Maths is great,” he told  Myrcella . “I’m on my Masters in  PoliSci , but I minored in Physics for my Bachelor.”

Myrcella had stars in her eyes. Arya wanted to puke. “Really? Where do you study?”

“Golden Tooth.”

“I thought about going there,” said  Myrcella . “But they don’t have such a good music program.”

“What does a maths major need a music program for?” Arya asked despite herself.

For the first time,  Myrcella smiled when she looked at her. “I play the piano. It’s so much nicer with a good program at the university itself.”

“Oh,” said Arya, feeling stupid. She kicked back at her chair and looked to the ground.

Robb snickered quietly and put an arm around her shoulder, but he didn’t have the mercy to let up. “That sounds like you’re really talented. Do you ever play any concerts?”

“We have recitals.” She had the bad feeling that  Myrcella was blushing. “I don’t play in the orchestra, but I get a few slots every performance.”

“We’ll have to catch one some time, then,” said Robb. Arya missed the days when he’d been fifteen and full of righteous, sullen anger. He was so grown up now, it was annoying.

She was almost relieved when Professor Selmy entered to come get them before anything else could be said.

“Miss Stark,” he said. “We’re ready for you to come to the dean’s office. I trust you’re alright?”

Arya slipped out from under  Robb’s arm and waved him off. “I’m fine, let’s just go.” Robb stood up behind her. “This is my brother, he can come with, right?”

“Certainly.” Selmy greeted him with a handshake and gestured for the door.

With a last suspicious glance back at Myrcella, she followed them out of the infirmary.

* * *

She didn’t get expelled, which she was even half-happy about and after they got out of the dean’s office Robb took her for chicken fingers. He left that evening with a careful hug and the promise to come as back-up the next time their parents would come down.

He kept his word two weeks later when mom and dad made their  first round trip. Arya was first on their list.

Robb arrived an hour before them and helped with her last-minute cleaning attempts. Her mother still patted at her bedding.

“She’ll just do that because she misses hounding you at home,” Robb had told her ten minutes before their arrival. He’d looked wistful and just like Jon with his little half-smile and one hand ruffling her hair. “You’re all grown up now and we all need to learn to deal with it.  Them most of all.”

Arya thought that after the first three kids, their parents really ought to have learned how to deal, but she gingerly kept quiet when Dad inspected her room for mould and Mom laid out granola bars on her desk. At least Robb noticed and nodded over both their heads.

“So,” said Dad, “do we have a plan?”

“I’ve heard, the university has some events to offer,” said Robb. His eyes took on a wicked shine and before Arya could jump in, he was saying, “In fact, Arya has a friend who has a piano recital tonight.”

She glared at him with the force of a thousand suns. “No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.” He put on the same innocent face he’d used when she’d been four and he’d convinced their parents that she’d been the one who’d broken the glass figurine in their bedroom. “Don’t you remember? Myrcella is playing.”

“How do you even know?”

He grinned. “I looked it up this morning. I thought you’d  _ surely _ want to support her.”

“She’s Joffrey’s  _ sister, _ ” said Arya, to Robb, to her parents, to  _ herself. “ _ A _ Lannister. _ ”

“ Mh ,” said her father. “A sister isn’t necessarily the same as her brother.”

“Oh, she’s lovely,” said Robb. 

Arya wanted to punch that stupid grin off his face.

Mom gave her a critical once-over. “I would love to hear some music tonight. It sounds nice, Arya.”

Arya crossed her arms and sulked. She’d lost this battle.

After dinner at a restaurant too expensive for her, they headed to the university’s auditorium. It was a big building with a generous foyer. A painful reminder of the prestige attending KLU could bring, and the reason why Hot Pie needed a scholarship to come here.

They were ushered into the great performance hall where the floor was decked in red samite. Arya glared at the ornaments on the walls.

“Maybe  Myrcella really sucks,” she whispered to Robb, “and her family had this built so they’d let her play.”

He snickered, but gave her a light shove to the shoulder all the same. “I guess we’ll find out. There’s no way we’re leaving now.” And he pointed ahead of them where Dad was heartily shaking Selmy’s hand with a smile that wasn’t at all forced. Arya went back to sulking and plopped down in the seat next to her mother.

She had to suffer through two orchestral pieces before  Myrcella presented herself.

She seemed too small for the big stage lights and the black space surrounding her. In a simple green dress and her hair cascading down her back, Arya thought she’d look more at home in a forest clearing.  _ She should have a crown of flowers. _

With only a small  bow ,  Myrcella took her place on the piano stool.

In the space between lifting her fingers and the first note, Arya could have sworn time halted. She inhaled slowly and clenched her fist on the armrest.

Myrcella played.

Courtly culture had been something Arya knew how to evade when she’d been little. She could only vaguely recall a few visits to the Philharmonic of  Torrhen’s Square. But she remembered that it’d been dreadfully boring without exception.

From the first note reverberating through the room, this was different.

Arya dug her fingers into the armrest as Myrcella began to weave a bright, tentative melody out of the silence. Only her hair and the folds of her dress stood out against the darkness.

The quick little tune faded into something deeper.  Myrcella’s hands took hold of the keys more forcefully, climbing to the left, fingers growing faster. Instead of a steady stream zinging through the air, the music swelled up from below. Arya felt it on her skin – under it – crawling over her knees and elbows and suspending her in empty space.

Myrcella moved with the notes she played, just fluid and small. Her forearms flexed, her fingers stretched, and her body leaned forward and back again as she gripped the keys. The rest of the room was a huddled mass pressed to the back of Arya’s mind. Yawning clarity opened up under her feet.

All the sounds flowing together tugged at her, dragged her into the free-fall. Not another soul could touch her here. It was just her. Just Arya.

Just her in the blackness, eyes fixed on the brightly moving gold-spun thread in the centre of the room.

She lifted up a slow hand and wiped at her cheeks. It felt wrong to look down, so she didn’t, but there was no mistaking the wetness on her fingers.

With a shaky exhale, Arya wondered if  Myrcella had spotted them sitting here.

She knew she wouldn’t be staying to find out.

* * *

“ So, you ran.”

“I didn’t  _ run, _ ” said Arya, tearing apart her pancake. “I didn’t want to  _ talk  _ to her. It’s not my fault that my family is a little dumb sometimes.”

Gendry laughed. “Arya, come on. She’s just a girl who helped you when her brother was being a douchebag. Don’t you think she deserves the benefit of the doubt, at least?”

“It’s not about that.” She picked up her fork and stabbed at the torn pieces of the pancake. “How can they do this to Sansa? She could have contacted  Myrcella by now, but she didn’t. We can’t just go over her head.”

She loved Gendry fiercely for not laughing again, then, but settling into his old familiar, scowling face. His voice softened. “Maybe they’ve spoken to her already,” he said. “When was the last time you guys talked?”

“I don’t know.” Arya shifted on her chair. “When I left Winterfell, I guess.”

Gendry only hummed. “I think you should talk to her before you make up your mind.”

Arya grunted and he stole one of her pancake pieces. She poked him with her fork. But there was a smile at the back of her throat, threatening to spill out.

“Arya.”

Her stomach sank.

“Hello,” said  Myrcella who’d just reached their table. The food on her tablet didn’t look like it came from the same cafeteria where Arya and Gendry had gotten theirs. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

Her eyes rested inquisitively on Gendry. Her hair was tamed today, pulled back by multiple small braids with not a hairpin in sight. It brought out the fine bones of her face. Arya scoffed.

“You’re not bothering her,” said Gendry, slightly bemused. He stuck out a hand. “I’m Gendry. Did you  wanna sit down?”

With a graceful manoeuvre,  Myrcella moved the tablet to her side and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, I’m Myrcella.” She looked across the room to another table. “No thank you, I have a study group waiting for me and I truly don’t want to take up much of your time.”

“What is it?” Arya asked and tried to look halfway demure the way her mother had tried to teach her a long, long time ago.

“I just wanted to thank you for bringing your family to the concert yesterday.” While the friendly façade felt like a stone mask on Arya’s face,  Myrcella’s smile was light and fleeting and could so easily be mistaken for something real that Arya’s cover cracked.  _ It’s the eyes,  _ she decided,  _ they’re like winter fairy lights.  _ “Your parents were lovely when I spoke to them afterwards. It’s a shame I didn’t catch you before you could return from the bathroom.”

Gendry snorted into his drink. Arya patted him on the back to alleviate his coughing fit a little too hard and smiled sourly.

“It’s not a problem,” she said. “You were good.” That, at least, she could say without faking it. There was no denying that  Myrcella was  _ good.  _ Arya thought of the green dress wrapped around her, ending just under her knees. She’d looked the part and she’d been good. Those were just facts.

“Well,” said Myrcella, tucking a straying strand of hair behind her ear and looking neither of them in the eye. “Thank you for saying that. And thank you, again. For coming.”

She took her tablet back into both hands and smiled at them once more before she turned on her heel and left to join her friends.

Gendry waggled his eyebrows.

Arya glared. “Shut up.”

* * *

In the evenings after the concert, Arya got into bed with headphones on. Hot Pie listened to classical music when he studied, so she’d asked him to send him a few of his playlists. She’d skipped right over the compilation of ancient works. But the contemporary and new, she gave a listen.

She’d been undeniably affected by  Myrcella’s playing, but maybe there was just something about music she hadn’t known before. Or maybe it had been a fluke.

Arya was determined to find out. For Sansa’s sake.

It was hard for her to lie still with nothing but the music. Bran liked doing that, when he needed the world to go away after his accident. She tried channelling him that first night. 

After barely half an hour she gave up. Debussy was as boring as the afternoons her mother had gotten it into her head that she would teach her daughters to knit.

The next evening Gendry came over for take-out and a movie. Arya hadn’t planned on letting him in on it, but he took a look at her playlists and raised an eyebrow at her. It was a testament to their friendship that he lay on the ground with her and listened.

“Do you feel anything?” she asked, opening one eye and glancing back at him.

“I feel things all the time.”

She punched him in the arm. “About  _ this _ , jerk.”

He linked his hands behind his head and the amused look faded from his face. He still wasn’t looking at her. “Not really. I like it, but I’m not, like,  _ moved to tears.” _

“Yeah.” Arya trained her eyes back on the ceiling.

“Hey,” he said after a few minutes of silence. “Do you really think this is  gonna do anything? What if you just had a bad night that day?”

“I didn’t,” she said, and resisted the urge to punch him again. 

She listened to a lot of classical that week. Nothing came of it. On Monday she was so frustrated that she bought herself two extra bars of chocolate. Usually she would’ve moved on by now. Usually it wouldn’t be this hard to get  _ green eyes  _ and _ blond hair  _ out of her head.

The way back from the supermarket took her right across campus. She’d almost reached her dorms when she came to a sharp stop. With a furrowed brow she looked up the brownish-red walls of  Bael’s buildng, over the few windows with light behind them, and the entrance right in front of her.

Arya didn’t know much about KLU’s programmes, aside from their martial arts offers. But she had a foggy memory of the campus tour she’d received when she’d first started here. This was the music building. Probably.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Arya had pushed open the door and slipped inside.

Immediately, she knew she was in the right place. Dulled scraps of music came from all sides. Arya pressed on, further down the corridor.

She had to climb two sets of stairs to find what she was accidentally looking for.

Myrcella was sitting on the bench of a piano in a mini-auditorium with the door only shut partially. Arya was quiet as a cat as she came closer.

She needn’t have been,  Myrcella was absorbed in her notes and her keys. Her fingers danced like flames through the furious melody she was playing. Her hair was genuinely messy. She’d twisted part of it into a bun and stuck a pencil through it. Arya wanted to tug it out.

Instead, she pulled her bag closer to her body, leaned against the wall, and listened. 

The swift, loose rhythm gave way to longer tones. A quiet interlude. Arya clenched her jaw and felt the breath go out of her. The soulful tranquillity of the lonely notes drifted out and sank right into her. It was so different than the sated exhaustion of a good work-out and yet it put her similarly at ease. That was a frightening thought.

But then, right in the middle of it,  Myrcella stopped. The music broke off so abruptly that she flinched and knocked her head against the wall violently. “Ow!”

She froze on the spot, cradling the side of her head with one hand.

“Hello?” said  Myrcella and Arya cursed herself.

Sheepish, she stepped into the room. “Hi.”

Myrcella was twisting around on the bench, craning her neck to see. Her complexion was kind of like Sansa’s - pale and smooth all on its own and with a natural beauty that Arya had never possessed.

“Sorry,” said Arya, and even half meant it. “You really are good.”

A delighted little thing of a smile slid onto  Myrcella’s face, not beaming, but gentle and real.

Up close she didn't look as fragile as she did on stage . She was just a little taller than Arya, she held her arms with a hidden strength when she played, and her waist looked sturdy, good to hold onto. Only in her face she was all delicacy.

“Thank you,” she said now. “Are you here to listen?”

Arya looked back at the door, then to  Myrcella again. “I was just—”  _ Just secretly listening to you because I can’t get the thought of you playing out of my head. “ _ Sure, I can listen.”

“Great,” said Myrcella, and smiled.

* * *

Arya had to tip her head all the way back to gauge all of the King’s Landing Opera House.

She looked at Myrcella and caught her eyes. “Do you want to play here someday?”

“Mh.” Myrcella folded her hands at her front. “I’d love to try it, maybe. Just once.”

“I bet you could,” said Arya.

In the dark,  Myrcella’s smile was even more enigmatic. “Thanks, Arya.”

They stepped back onto the square, hands in their pockets. To all sides people in samite and silks talked in too many syllables as they made their way up the sprawling low staircase leading to the main entrance. Arya brushed her hands down her black jeans.  Myrcella hadn’t commented on her state of under-dress when they’d met up at the dorms, and that was all that mattered. She’d gone as far as putting on a dark blue dress shirt – that had to be enough. 

Predictably,  Myrcella herself easily outshone any glossy snob here. The street lights were just right for her, hair more golden than yellow and eyes gleaming between the shadows of her face.

She checked her watch again, but didn’t look overly concerned.

“ Trystane is never punctual, but rarely late,” she’d told Arya on the way here. “It’s a family trait.”

Arya didn’t know how she felt about a third party, but  Trystane had been the one  Myrcella had originally bought the tickets with and besides that he was the closest  Myrcella came to calling anyone her best friend. Arya would endure.

Thus far,  Myrcella had proven to have pretty good taste, at least.

And now, when she raised her arm to wave to a distant figure, her eyes brightened. That was a point in  Trystane’s favor for a first.

He came sauntering toward them, also in a black jean, Arya noted with relief. His coat and scarf were a lot nicer than hers, though. 

Myrcella hugged him cheerfully and introduced them in quick order. He took her hand with a smile that reminded her of  Nymeria when she’d still been a pup. “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” said Arya and shook firmly.

Trystane stretched his arms out and looked up at the House. “Oh, I’ve been looking forward to this. Are you guys excited?”

She said nothing, let  Myrcella take the lead in nodding enthusiastically. “We’ve been fans of Wex Pyke since he broke onto the scene,” she told Arya.

“There is such a refreshingly wild quality to his work.” He turned to her. “Don’t you think?”

“Oh,” she said. “Sure.”

“Arya hasn’t been into anything classical until recently,” Myrcella told Trystane.

His eyebrows quirked up in amusement. “So, we’re showing you the ropes, newbie?”

Arya flushed. “Don’t call me that.” 

Trystane’s eyebrows lowered, but he only lifted his hands. “Of course, I’m sorry.”

She glared at the ground for just a moment. If all of  Myrcella’s friends were as courteous as she was, she likely wouldn’t earn herself many points with any of them.

Neither of them said anything else about it, though.  Trystane only smiled at the people entering the House before them and  Myrcella looked thoughtful.

“All of us taking this a little bit too seriously can get caught up in the minute details,” said Trystane, while he held the door open for them. “That we sometimes forget how little that can matter.”

Arya didn’t want to ask what he meant, so she nodded, feeling stupid.

Myrcella looked at her. “I like taking structures apart, but the true privilege of music is that no one needs vast knowledge of it to enjoy it,” she said. “One could argue that that is the job of any musician.”

They showed their tickets and climbed another set of stairs. 

“At its best, music doesn’t have to be explained, nor does it ask you to explain yourself,” said  Trystane . “You can just be. That’s what I mean, I guess.” He scratched the back of his neck. 

“Well said,” said  Myrcella , padding him on the shoulder and taking his coat to give to the coat check girl. 

“I like that,” said Arya and immediately wished she hadn’t.

But  Trystane gave her another one of his puppy-dog smiles. “Thanks.”

Finally, they reached the entrance to the theatre itself. Arya quietly thanked the heavens when  Myrcella sat in the middle, between her and  Trystane , leaving her the aisle seat.

She tried to relax all of her limbs and bumped fingers with  Myrcella on the armrest. That left her chest tight until silence fell, the curtains lifted, and the orchestra came into view.

They were a lot of people on that stage, more than even KLU’s university orchestra had to offer, and a lot more dignified in their understated tuxes and dresses.

They launched into their first piece and Arya let her arm relax so that it was aligned with  Myrcella’s all the way.  Myrcella didn’t pull away and she enjoyed the prickle of excitement that gave her.

Soon, the music had her held tight in its grasp.

The conductor was a spectacle in the way she moved. For a good few minutes, Arya got distracted from the music by the absolute surrender and simultaneous control she exhibited.  _ It’s sort of like a fight,  _ she  thought.  _ Sort of like  _ _ Jaqen _ _. _

She had no idea what she was telling the orchestra with her moves, but it worked seamlessly. Arya watched with rapt attention as they created the ebb and flow of the melodies. As they linked together and went hand in hand. As they swore up valleys, oceans and skies only by sound.

_ Music doesn’t ask you to explain yourself.  _

_ And what a good thing that is,  _ thought Arya.  _ I couldn’t think of a single word. _

* * *

A string of crimson and yellow marked the  Lannisters ’ arrival. Bile rose up in  Arya’s stomach as she watched them take their seats in the front. She counted. All of them had shown up.

Joffrey laughed so loud at something his mother had said Arya could hear it way in the back. She knew she wouldn’t be walking Myrcella home tonight. Before Rhaegar Targaryen could make his way on stage and ask all guests to turn off their phones, she shot Myrcella a quick selfie with the seven perfect blond heads in the background.

** Arya:  ** _ prob best i don’t stick around for this mess. escape them any time, tho. _

She slipped her phone back into her pocket, only to pull it back out thirty seconds later.

** Myrcella ** ** : ** _ Understood :) _

** Myrcella: ** _ I’m really happy you’re still here, though. _

With a buzzing stomach, Arya muted all messages, just in time for the lights to dim. She didn’t need a program to know when  Myrcella would appear. 

Myrcella got nervous differently than she did. But in the quiet urgency of her repeating the spots that were giving her trouble over and over again, until Arya complained loudly about how hungry she was was her version of performance anxiety, Arya supposed.

Not that there was need for any. She played her first tune and Arya’s breath went shallow. The auditorium was packed to the point of stifling discomfort, but  Myrcella was alone up on stage, conjuring up a melody Arya closed her eyes to and flew in.

It was over too soon and too bright once all applause had died off.

The  Lannisters made a spectator’s exit and Arya snuck out of one of the side doors. The following part wouldn’t be for her. She disappeared into the dark with music in her ears that no one else could touch or take.  Back in her room, she broke out the good chocolate and her laptop. There was a movie Rickon had told her to watch that starred Elinor Tyrell as the blond heroine. “She kicks  _ ass,” _ he’d told her, and dropped the phone when Jon had tackled him to get his turn to talk.

She got almost to the end until there was a knock on the door. After struggling out from under her sheets, she opened up to  Myrcella in what Arya assumed were her pyjamas. 

In a fit of absurdity, Arya leaned out and looked over her shoulder to spot any unwanted relative.

Myrcella smiled tiredly. “They’re gone.”

Wordless, Arya stepped back and let her in. She snatched up a few of the clothes strewn across the room while  Myrcella stood in the middle and looked around in mild interest.

It was only when she headed for the desk chair when Arya thought to speak. “You can just sit on the bed.”

Immediate regret followed when her heart sped up watching  Myrcella take her up on the offer, gently pushing aside Arya’s laptop closer to the pillow.

“So, are you okay?” asked Arya, and kicked yesterday’s pants under the bed.

“Oh. Yes.”  Myrcella smiled again when she hopped up next to her. “I’m only tired. I usually am after performing.”

“And after being mobbed by your family?”

“They’re just—” She waved a vague hand. “They have these priorities. Things that must always come first – you know; saving face, expanding influence. Making no enemies unless you’ve thought about it long and hard.”

“They must’ve been furious when Sansa reported Joffrey, then,” said Arya with some grim satisfaction.

Myrcella smiled. “They were. Although not as furious as when you punched him.” Her fingers were twisting around each other. “They told me off for accompanying you to the infirmary that day.”

_ “What?”  _ Arya frowned at her. “That was, like, the only sign of decency I’d seen from any of you. At that point.”

“Selfless decency doesn’t usually make the list for them.” She bit her lip and Arya almost didn’t hear half of what she said next. “Sorry. It’s not really bad or anything. I do love them dearly. It can just be a little exhausting dealing with them. There’s a certain—” She hesitated, looking for the right words. “There are expectations to fulfil, and not very much leeway when you don’t.”

There was nothing Arya could think to say to that. Her family could be messy and infuriating to be sure – it had taken years and years to find an equilibrium with Sansa. But there hadn’t ever been  _ contempt.  _ Rage and frustration and sadness, but all of it fixable and warm, not cold and unforgiving.

“They must be pretty dumb if they think you’re not already better than most people,” she said.

Myrcella slid down along her pillows a little further and played with the tassel of the one with the wolf print Sansa had given to her for her last birthday. In the dark, Arya could only barely make out her blush. “Dumb isn’t the word I’d use to describe them,” she said absently. “Well. Maybe Uncle Jaime sometimes. He can be kind of a dummy, but he’s probably the nicest, too.”

Arya was glad she wasn’t looking at her as she wrinkled her nose.

“Next time,” she said, “I’ll just bring  _ my  _ whole family and you’ll come with us.” 

Myrcella’s drowsy smile blanketed her acidic anger. “That sounds nice.”

Arya looked down at her. Her heart contracted and she had to quell the ridiculous urge to tuck the blanket around Myrcella's form. “Do you want me to let you sleep?”

“I’m not tired,” said  Myrcella , the most and only childish thing she’d ever said to Arya. “Keep talking.”

Arya complied. She kept her voice low as she spoke about the stupidly trivial things that made her family what it was. Things that  Myrcella had likely once heard from Sansa and things that brought a smile to Arya’s face.

She talked like that, until  Myrcella’s eyes hadn’t opened for ten minutes. After making sure she was sound asleep, Arya carefully dropped to the floor and tiptoed to her closet. From the back she fished out the camping mat that was too thin and the sleeping bag with the hole at the bottom. 

Myrcella sighed once while Arya set up her makeshift bed, but she only rolled over and kept sleeping. Arya wriggled into the bag and turned on her side.

The parquet was cold against her back, but Myrcella was silver against the moonlight.

* * *

She left for her first lecture before Myrcella woke. Quiet as a shadow she’d snuck around her room, around the strange sleeping form still in sweatpants and tangled in Arya’s blankets.

She sat down next to Gendry with a pounding heart and sweaty palms. Almost nothing Professor Selmy told them that day got through. 

She didn’t see  Myrcella when she got back to her room, nor was she at lunch where Hot Pie regaled them with the tale of his recent defeat of some video game Arya didn’t know yet. When it got be early evening and she still hadn’t run into her, Arya decided to take her chances on the  Bael building.  Myrcella could always send her away if she’d had enough.

Like that first time she’d visited, she stopped at the door when she reached the second floor, to watch clever, sure fingers and hidden lines under cloth. But then she pushed the door open and slipped inside.

Myrcella smiled and didn’t stop playing until she’d reached the end of the piece. But she smiled. So Arya stayed.

Listening to the last notes swing and die off,  Myrcella scooted to the right on the bench and patted the spot next to her in invitation. She was still smiling once Arya had sat down.

“You’re already playing again?” Arya tapped one of the keys. “Don’t you get sick of it sometimes?” 

She didn’t respond immediately, only ghosted her fingers over the black and white in a steady pattern. “It’s all I can do,” she said. “Growing up, my family wasn’t big on free expression. Playing taught me a way around that. I suppose I can’t  picture feeling without it anymore.”

Arya frowned. “Are you still upset about yesterday?” She wondered if it was realistic for her to get near any Lannister again without getting clocked by campus security. 

Myrcella carded a hand through her hair, smiling. “No, that was  only business as usual.”

_ It shouldn’t be,  _ she wanted to say. Vehemently, so  Myrcella would believe it.  _ It shouldn’t be and I’ll show you why. _

“So, does that mean that at least you had a good night?”

The hair on her arms stands up as if on command when  Myrcella chuckles. There was always something so fond about her when she did that. “The  night part was good,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you for that yet.”

Arya was about to wave her off when a soft hand covered hers.  Myrcella leaned in to catch her eyes just as Arya’s heart jumped into her throat and the little ball of joy in her stomach ballooned up. Lannister eyes were very, very green. “Thank you, Arya.”

“Don’t thank me.”  Myrcella didn’t pull away, so neither did she. “That’s just what friends do.”

Bright emerald faded to a more clouded forest green. “I don’t have too many of those,” said  Myrcella , gliding right past sadness and looked only contemplative. Her hand tightened around Arya’s fingers. Arya wished she would let go, but she would likely punch something if she did. “But that seems like a good rule.”

_ Don’t let go,  _ Arya’s thoughts begged.  _ Just give me a second and I’ll find just the right words to give you what you need. And I can be your friend then.  _

_ One second and I can be your friend. _

“It is,” said Arya, and  Myrcella kissed her.

She moved in slowly, but to Arya it was happening before she could register anything beyond holding hands. They were  _ still  _ holding hands, though. Only now there were also fingers at the slope of Arya’s neck and warm, shallow breath tickled her chin. 

There were lips on hers. Hesitant, but revealing.

Myrcella had cracked herself open and showed it all.

Arya untangled their hands, grabbed  Myrcella by the waist, and pushed back. A gentle noise escaped between them as they floated. In the midst of fisting her hands into the fabric of Myrcella’s summer-yellow dress, Arya understood how it must be to sit on that stage, only one person and a piano.

As if she hadn’t already lost her mind, she slid her hand down to Myrcella’s thigh and pulled. 

There was a breathless moment where they separated and wobbled dangerously on the bench. 

But then  Myrcella went with her, swung her leg around and sank onto Arya’s lap. A series of mismatching tones rang through the room when she steadied herself against the piano to find a balance for them. 

Myrcella held onto her shoulders and slid her hands behind her neck. Everywhere she was warm as she pressed herself onto her.

“This probably isn’t the best friendship etiquette, is it?”

She chuckled and Arya growled. “Who the hell cares?”

Blond hair curtained her face to both sides. In the bright light of the music room, Arya Stark took a hold of the girl and let herself go.

* * *

The  Lannisters sat in front again, a row of golden-haired half-gods. Arya glared at them from the other side of the aisle.

“I don’t think that’ll make their heads explode,” said Jon, laying a hand on her shoulder. “As sweet as that would be.”

She only laughed and looked away to the slit in the curtain where the performers routinely peeked through to assess the audience. There wasn’t anything to see, but she knew  Myrcella was back there. That was enough.

“You shouldn’t have punched him.” 

She turned around to her big sister, smiling and with open arms. She didn’t wait, only launched herself at Sansa, who caught her with a gentle laugh that Arya hadn’t heard in months. She held on tightly, took in her scent and dislodged herself before it went on too long.

“I punched him anyway,” she said, and sniffed defiantly.

“I know.” Sansa reached for her and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “And I wouldn’t have expected anything different.”

Her smile was fond and graceful and not at all scolding and a bucket of relief emptied over Arya’s head. The last of her anger at Joffrey dissolved just for a moment, looking at her sister, genuinely happy. Sansa moved past her to greet the rest and take her place. Arya glanced over the  Lannisters again, and sat down when she caught the familiar hand-waving of Targaryen directing everyone to take their place. The lights dimmed as if on command.

She tugged on  Jon’s sleeve to pull him down next to her. “Shh, it’s starting.”

Today,  Myrcella was the first one up, right after the introduction. She came onto the stage in a grey dress. Arya had helped her pick it out for the occasion just last Thursday, after  Myrcella had convinced her to come, just for an hour. It hadn’t been nearly as bad as Arya had feared.

And, she thought, it’d been worth it.  Myrcella looked graceful as a bird circling over them, as she bowed and took her place on the player’s bench. But to Arya she also looked at peace.

The melody started deep and powerful, familiar to her ears. She liked how it skipped, this one, quick and notes reaching into each other one by one by one. It would grow soon, until  Trystane came out to join her in a four-handed crescendo.

Arya closed her eyes and it washed over her in detailed precision. When  Myrcella got to the short pause in the first half, she thought of her hands gliding over the keys with Arya on the bench next to her, watching and listening to her explain mechanics that Arya would never understand nor care to.

Over the serenity of the intermittent lower string, Jon grabbed her hand. Arya smiled and opened her eyes. If there was a soul untouched in the room, that person was an idiot.

Trystane made his way on stage just when  Myrcella had told her he would, and sat down smoothly. The two of them didn’t miss a beat. They looked complementary, copper and marble, and fast and slender. But  Myrcella wore the dress they’d bought together and the lipstick she’d kissed Arya with before they’d separated that morning.

The two of them finished with a flourish and Arya was the first to start the applause. 

The rest of the concert passed in a bubble out of time. Halfway through, Jon let go of her hand and took Val’s instead.  Myrcella’s performance was interspersed mostly with string quartets and a few solos,  Trystane among them. But  Myrcella was the one to close.

Arya clapped until her hands hurt and stretched when the lights came back on.

Val leaned over Jon who was yawning while covering his mouth. “She is wonderful,” she said.

Pride swelled bright in Arya’s belly. “I know.” Jon smiled slyly and she punched him in the arm. 

One by one her family filed out of their row, passing Arya who alternately watched them and the curtain up front. Warmth that she’d always failed to name stayed with her. They’d all shown up. Jon had even brought Val. (She still remembered the time he’d asked her if it was alright with her if he brought her along for occasions. She still remembered his deep, fond laugh when she’d told him about the time Val had let her train with her when her lesson with  Jaqen had been cancelled that day. They hadn’t had to talk about it since.)

Arya followed as the last one out of the auditorium, pushing Bran up the aisle to where they’d checked their coats. She bounced back on her feet once they’d stopped, and kept a sharp eye on any blond she saw.

They didn’t have to wait long, though.  Myrcella emerged alongside  Trystane , talking in the same low intensity they always slipped into with each other.

Arya watched them make a quick beeline for the cluster of  Lannisters and missed Sansa coming up behind her. She jumped when she got nudged in the side and glared. But Sansa only laughed mildly and sat down on the low bench next to Bran. “You got yourself quite the catch there.” She fussed with the blanket over Bran’s legs. “I’m proud of you, you know?”

Arya blinked and blushed. Bran and Sansa snickered and absolved her of responding by starting to bicker about the blanket instead.

“They’re leaving.” 

She turned fast as lightning. Only barely did she avoid smacking her girlfriend in the face. “You’re free?”

Myrcella laughed mildly, but she also nodded. “Trys invited them to dinner with his family and excused me to mingle with you guys. That’s deemed a socially acceptable reason to skip out on dinner with them, it seems.” She bent and looked around Arya. “Hello Sansa, it’s so nice to see you again.”

Sansa rose. Arya observed her critically, but there was no cover-up in her. She’d avoided Joffrey’s gaze all night, but she was looking straight at  Myrcella with a real Sansa-smile. “Likewise.”

“And you must be Bran.”  Myrcella turned and Arya took the hint and stepped aside. As Bran shook  Myrcella’s hand, she watched the rest of her family converge on them. 

Rickon was the first to bound up, and then her parents and Robb (again), and Val after that. Jon went last. 

He winked at Arya over  Myrcella’s head afterward. She smiled and touched her knuckles to the small of Myrcella’s back.

“We were thinking that we could try the  Dornish place just down the street for dinner,” said her mother. “Is that alright with you?”

“That’s fine.”  Myrcella stepped to stand beside Arya. “I quite like it there.”

“Good,” said Rickon. “I want something spicy.”

“You always say that,” said Robb. “And it always ends with me and Jon eating your cold leftovers.”

As they made their way outside, Rickon looked between them with a look of betrayal. “That’s not true! Bran, tell him that’s not true.”

“Sorry,” said Bran, “but you’re not very self-aware about your own spice-resistance.”

“They’re lying,” Rickon told  Myrcella firmly. “They like to conspire against me.”

“It’s true,” said Sansa. “We’re very horrible.”

“We ought to be arrested for always stopping him from getting himself killed,” said Jon and laughed when Rickon jumped on his back. 

Like clockwork, noise erupted from everyone at once. 

Under the incessant chatter of her family surrounding them, Arya flexed her fingers in  Myrcella’s hand and allowed the calm to come.


End file.
